


make me a match, throw me a throw, catch me a catch

by eloboosting



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Crack, M/M, convoluted red herring, inept matchmaking, no seriously this is just a shitload of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloboosting/pseuds/eloboosting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sehyeong, he with the eagle eyes and authoritarian shotcalling, notices that Yuan Hao has been underperforming slightly since coming back from MSI. There's only one solution: set him up with Wang Cheng. Hyeongseok is the poor sucker that gets pulled in as an unwilling sidekick.</p><p>aka: really terrible matchmaking fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	make me a match, throw me a throw, catch me a catch

**Author's Note:**

> Because e wanted adorable xiaohu/wuxx and I'm incapable of writing fic without emotional punching bag Looper and the rest of the Samsung crew. Written on the plane while I giggled into a cup of wine as the guy next to me hopefully slept peacefully.
> 
> [because](http://weibo.com/p/230444f7c1168d11634f36a99a860d028728d2) [wtf](http://ww4.sinaimg.cn/mw1024/005xckFPgw1f3vtliht5kj30qo0zjdjd.jpg) [do](http://i.imgur.com/m4jAgKa.jpg) [you](http://i.imgur.com/6nbMBOf.jpg) [say](http://i.imgur.com/vxjutCl.jpg) [to](http://i.imgur.com/ZWJ87s2.jpg) [this.](http://ww4.sinaimg.cn/mw1024/005xckFPgw1f3vtliw6u1j30ku112whm.jpg)

Like most everything that goes terribly wrong in Hyeongseok’s life now, it starts with some stupid idea of Sehyeong’s.

 

“Yuan Hao has been looking down lately,” he tells Hyeongseok seriously, staring intensely at him across the table.

Hyeongseok idly thinks back to their mid-laner—and yeah, Yuan Hao has been a little put out since MSI, has been underperforming slightly in their games, but they’re still winning, and it’s not like he’s hard slumping or something.

“Oh.” He takes another bite out of his hamburger while Sehyeong keeps staring at him. “Okay?”

Sehyeong frowns at him. “We should do something to cheer him up.”

And that’s when the hair on the back of his neck starts tingling, because this feels too much like the beginning of a _scheme_ , one of those really dumb plots he found himself wrapped into back on Samsung that never ended well.

“Really,” he says slowly, trying his best to sound as noncommittal as possible. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

Sehyeong continues like he didn’t even hear his reply. “He needs to get laid,” he announces, triumphant and confident and everything Hyeongseok hates about him right now.

“No,” he tries. “Why don’t we take him out for dinner or drinks or something—”

But he just ends up being steamrolled again, ignored in usual Sehyeong fashion. “He’s always had that weird tension with Wang Cheng.”

Which yes, he has noticed Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng, with their cuddling and disgustingly adorable skinship, but if that’s the reason Yuan Hao has been down lately—

“You’re the one who basically kicked Wang Cheng from the starting roster,” he points out.

Sehyeong nods amiably enough, shooting Hyeongseok a _significant_ look, and Hyeongseok’s stomach immediately crumples.

No.

_No._

“This is your fault,” Hyeongseok says, trying to subtly slide his way out of the booth. “I am uninvolv—”

Sehyeong reaches out a hand and grabs him by the wrist. “Hyeongseok~ie” he says in that gross sing-song way of his, and Hyeongseok feels the cage clamp shut around him.

- 

Sehyeong tugs on the sleeve of his shirt while Hyeongseok does his best to ignore him, focusing on eating his noodles and hoping Sehyeong eventually gives up. Unfortunately, he has significantly less patience than Sehyeong has stubborn dickishness and he eventually folds.

“Why don’t you just have Inkyu or Seungbin help you with this?” he asks, giving his noodles one last lingering glance. “This is exactly like the stupid shit you guys used to pull in Korea.”

“You’re the food expert,” Sehyeong says, like that’s somehow an adequate explanation. “And they’re on different teams, why would they willingly help a rival?”

Hyeongseok almost wants to argue that they have no idea if Yuan Hao getting laid will actually _help_ his performance—it may just as well be a distraction—but he knows a lost cause when he sees one, and he sighs instead.

“What kind of food?” he asks wearily.

“Do you know any romantic restaurants?” Sehyeong tilts his head to the side. “You and Eojin did that sort of thing, right?”

Hyeongseok tries to hide his wince at the mention of his old boyfriend, but he nods. “A few.”

Sehyeong immediately brightens. “What’s the fanciest one?”

-

“You do realize Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng are barely eighteen,” Hyeongseok says slowly. “Do they even have suits?”

Sehyeong brushes him off, and the manic gleam in his eyes wards Hyeongseok off from asking any other questions. He walks decisively up to Yuan Hao’s computer in the practice room, Hyeongseok following at a more sedate pace (read: reluctantly slinking after), where Yuan Hao’s busy tapping at his phone while he waits for his queue to pop.

“Yuan Hao,” Sehyeong says, loud and exuberant and bone-chillingly out of place.

Their mid-laner startles, staring at his phone for a few seconds before hesitantly looking up. There’s a slight bit of paranoia and fear in his eyes—not that Hyeongseok blames him, Sehyeong is one giant ball of criticism and nagging most of the time; he’d be just as afraid by this unpredicted address—and briefly scans the room around them as if searching for escape routes. “Um. Sehyeong.” He pauses and then quickly adds, “Hyung.”

Hyeongseok’s not sure when Yuan Hao picked up on that bit of Korean, but he applauds him for the gesture. Maybe he should be a little more surprised that their Chinese teammates are picking up Korean—but, then again, Sehyeong inspires odd adaptations from his teammates.

“This restaurant.” Sehyeong pushes a sticky note with the restaurant name on it right against the corner of Yuan Hao’s monitor. Hyeongseok watches as the queue pops, but Yuan Hao obediently stares at the bright yellow sticky note now marring his screen, letting the timer run out and kick him out of queue. Sehyeong smiles radiantly, as if proud that their Chinese teammates are more afraid of offending him than the possibility of dodging a game. “It’s nice.”

Yuan Hao looks more confused than anything, but he dutifully peels the sticky note from his screen and brings it closer to his face to read. “Um,” he says, finally glancing up at Sehyeong before settling his gaze on Hyeongseok. He looks at Hyeongseok like he’s a lifeline, a hope in his eyes like he expects Hyeongseok to understand and better explain this situation to him.

Unfortunately, Hyeongseok only has a slight inkling more than Yuan Hao about what Sehyeong is thinking. He shrugs, letting the universal sigh of uncertainty do the work for him, and Yuan Hao visibly deflates.

“Thank you?” Yuan Hao tries, letting the end lilt up like a question. He looks back at the sticky note and then back up at Sehyeong, and something akin to horror enters his expression. “Are you asking me—”

“Wang Cheng has been looking down,” Sehyeong interrupts, and relief immediately appears on Yuan Hao’s face. “You should take him out.”

Hyeongseok blinks. He looks around the room, sees that the rest of the team is focused on their games, and pinches his arm, hoping he’s dreaming.

This can’t be real.

How does Sehyeong expect this to work, he’s literally a bulldozer ramming down walls.

“Food cheers everyone up,” he adds quickly, weakly. “So, you know. As his elder—”

Yuan Hao still looks surprised and unsure about the reasoning, but he nods. “Okay,” he says, and then adds, “Thank you.” There’s another slight pause, where Sehyeong keeps staring expectantly and Yuan Hao nervously shifts under his gaze. He seems to realize what’s wrong, though, smarter than Hyeongseok who thinks Sehyeong is just going insane. “Hyungs.”

Sehyeong seems satisfied, and he walks away. Hyeongseok leans in to quickly tell Yuan Hao to please, _please_ , have him and Wang Cheng wear suits or the host at the restaurant would laugh and turn them away, but soon catches up to Sehyeong (read: reluctant trailing).

“That was subtle,” he says when they’re just out of earshot.

Sehyeong smiles at him. “Thanks, I thought so, too.”

Hyeongseok actually cares about his life and sanity, so he doesn’t even bother to comment.

- 

Hyeongseok had hoped after that terrible exchange his role would be over. He’s the food guy—he knows the restaurants—that should be it. Instead, he finds himself stuffed into a suit and dragged to the restaurant with Sehyeong.

It turns out, Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng do, in fact, both have suits appropriate for this kind of setting.

“This is stalking,” Hyeongseok says. Sehyeong looks disbelievingly at him over the edge of his menu. “No, really, this is stalking.”

Sehyeong ignores him to lean to the side, peeking over at Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng’s table.

“They look like they’re having fun,” he reports, sounding much too smug for someone who hasn’t really done anything for the two Chinese kids.

Their waiter swings by their table and Hyeongseok quickly orders while Sehyeong is busy creeping on the other table. Their waiter eventually manages to pry the menu Sehyeong’s been using as a makeshift shield from his fingers, giving Hyeongseok an almost pitying look as he leaves their table.

Hyeongseok sighs and shrugs in reply—he doesn’t know how he ended up with such stupid idiots as friends, terrible enough that even strangers manage to commiserate with him.

But he does end up with a free glass of wine, obviously larger portions for his meal, and extra flowers in their vase (and another candle)—Sehyeong also promised to pay for the meal if he tagged along—so he’s not complaining too much. Hyeongseok’s always been too easily bribed with food.

“Most people don’t fuck on the first date,” Hyeongseok finally says after swallowing down half his meal. He flicks his fork in the air. “And even if they do, it’s not like they’re going to make that obvious at dinner. They’re two boys, _in public.”_

“They have candles,” Sehyeong says in lieu of an explanation, looking at Hyeongseok like he just _expects_ him to understand. When Hyeongseok keeps staring at him blankly, he sighs noisily. “Someone’s definitely getting laid if there’s candles.”

“Oh.” Against his will, Hyeongseok glances over to the candle and _extra_ candle on their table, the pretty floral arrangement in the vase, the house band conveniently placed right next to their table, and he suddenly feels incredibly uncomfortable. “Your idea of what’s romantic is really fucked up, you know.”

Thankfully, Sehyeong doesn’t seem to notice any of that, too busy almost falling out of his chair trying to stalk Yuan Hao. “Says the guy whose idea of romance is eating kimbap off Eojin’s dick.”

Hyeongseok doesn’t manage to stop his flinch at Eojin’s name this time, and he takes a viciously large bite out of their shared dessert. “That was one time.”

It wasn’t. One time, that is.

But that’s another story.

Sehyeong doesn’t look like he’s going to be focusing on anything other than Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng’s impromptu date, so he sighs and turns around to take a look for himself.

Yuan Hao has a hand on Wang Cheng’s wrist on the table, smiling with an affection an adoration in his gaze that’s altogether too uncomfortably familiar. Yuan Hao reaches over with his other hand to ruffle Wang Cheng’s hair, and suddenly it’s not Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng sitting across the table, it’s—

 

“Hey,” Eojin says to him, eyes soft as he reaches over to cup Hyeongseok’s cheek. He leans in to lay a quick kiss against Hyeongseok’s lips. “I love you.”

He doesn’t say anything— _can’t_ say anything as Eojin presses in for another kiss, until there’s no table between them and they’re suddenly in bed, and Eojin is sucking bruises against his neck while his hands run down Hyeongseok’s sides, resting against his hips as he slowly slides his cock in—

He looks down to see his and Sehyeong’s shared dessert instead.

 

Sehyeong seems to have finally pried his attention away from Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng, looking at him with concern. “You okay?”

He takes another bite out of their dessert and shrugs. “Yeah, of course.”

- 

“Shared activities,” Sehyeong announces to him a few days later, waving a sheet of paper right into his face. “They need shared activities!”

“Like League?” he asks, as dry and serious as he can manage while Sehyeong scowls at him.

“No, like tennis,” Sehyeong says, leaving no room for argument or protests. “Doubles.”

-

Let it be said that League pros are not exactly _athletic._

Hyeongseok half-remembers learning how to play tennis in some long-forgotten gym class back in middle or high school, but fuck if he knows how to play _now_. Sehyeong pushes him into shorts and a t-shirt, though, dragging him along to the tennis court where Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng stare at them fearfully from across the net.

For his own part, Hyeongseok stares back just as fearfully while Sehyeong laughs like a maniac to his side.

“Do you even know how to play?” he asks, giving his racquet another glance and successfully stopping the sigh that threatens to leave him at any moment.

“No,” Sehyeong says easily. “But he does.”

He points at Inkyu, who’s meandered his way onto the court. He looks just as bemused as the rest of them, and Hyeongseok very much doubts that Inkyu has any more idea about the rules than the rest of them.

And just as expected, when Hyeongseok explains the situation to them, Inkyu turns to Sehyeong with the most exasperated frown.

“I watched _one_ game of Wimbledon with Seungbin,” he says. He looks over to the side to make sure Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng are busy talking and out of earshot. “And he spent half of it trying to look up one girl’s skirt.”

Hyeongseok isn’t even shocked anymore. His friends are shameless; the sky is blue.

“That’s a good birthday present idea for Hyukkyu,” Sehyeong says with surprised delight, and Hyeongseok feels a pang of sympathy for their young alpaca friend, but then he continues, “But really, you don’t remember anything about how to play?”

“You bounce the ball back and forth.” Inkyu shrugs. “How hard could it be?”

 

It turns out to be a truly terrible rhetorical question that Hyeongseok ends up with a very easy answer for:

Really fucking hard.

 

Inkyu stays to “referee,” watching them lob the ball back and forth between them with obvious boredom. After their first few tries had ended with the ball sailing straight into the fence (or into Sehyeong’s stomach, the one time, where he’d then fallen to the ground and curled into a ball for a good ten seconds—Hyeongseok’s still not sure that it was an accident), they’d found the most reliable way to get the ball to actually bounce into the court.

Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng keep sharing looks and murmur to each other in Chinese whenever there’s a break in the rallying (which accounts to just about every other hit), and Hyeongseok can feel their weariness and confusion from the other side of the court.

“Why don’t we just play League,” Hyeongseok tries after another failed attempt at a serve, hoping against all odds that Sehyeong’s passion for this sport he doesn’t even know how to play stops soon. “Practice for that game we have coming up. Tomorrow.”

Inkyu shoots him a grateful look and quickly jogs over to their side of the court, laying a hand on Hyeongseok’s shoulder, adding a quick, “This is dumb.”

Inkyu’s hand is warm and even Sehyeong can’t refuse two of his oldest friends’ desperate pleas, and he huffs. “Fine, our hour is almost up, anyway.”

It doesn’t escape Hyeongseok’s notice that Yuan Hao has an arm slung around Wang Cheng’s shoulders as they walk off the court. But he’s too busy wondering about the arm Sehyeong has around his own shoulders, the way Inkyu won’t stop ruffling at his hair.

-

“Shared activities,” Sehyeong insists again, leaving Hyeongseok to stare forlornly at his computer as he walks up to Yuan Hao and presses another sticky note against his monitor. Hyeongseok watches Yuan Hao’s back stiffen, watches him miss another queue in favor of keeping eye contact with Sehyeong.

Shi Yu rolls over to his desk, nodding over at the mess that is Sehyeong sticking more and more post-it notes against Yuan Hao’s monitor. “Is everything okay—?”

Hyeongseok shares a look with his jungler and sighs. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. He lays a hand on Shi Yu’s shoulder, and Shi Yu looks up at him, confused. “Never underperform.”

“Um.” Shi Yu blinks. “Okay.”

He continues, “Or that—” He waves a hand at Yuan Hao, who is now carefully peeling notes away from his monitor so he can actually see his screen. Hyeongseok shrugs and just repeats, “That.”

Shi Yu’s eyes widen, and Hyeongseok feels a hand clap down on his own shoulder. “Hi Shi Yu,” Sehyeong says, too enthusiastic and chipper for it to be truly real. “Did you need something?”

Hyeongseok has never seen someone roll away on a chair as quickly as Shi Yu manages in that moment and feels slightly betrayed, abandoned to deal with an obviously insane Sehyeong. But he understands Shi Yu’s fear, and he looks up to see Sehyeong staring down intensely at him. “Are you done?”

“Nope,” Sehyeong says, and Hyeongseok feels another hand settle on his other shoulder. “Not until Yuan Hao’s condition improves.”

Hyeongseok almost wants to argue that Yuan Hao will _never_ improve unless Sehyeong actually allows him the time to practice—but he knows better than to argue by now.

-

There is very little green space in Shanghai, which makes this small park, sequestered in the recesses of the suburbs they live in, a true secret haven. The weather is agreeable today, as well, but unfortunately this whole situation is marred by one jarring fact:

“This is actual stalking now,” he says, sliding further down into the bench. He looks to the side at where Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng are cheerfully chatting, licking at their ice cream cones with pure, innocent faces.

Sehyeong, on the other hand, holds binoculars right up against his face, staring at Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng like the overly involved creep he is. He sets the binoculars down to scribble something down on a paper, balling it up and throwing it at Yuan Hao’s head.

Hyeongseok has to admit that Sehyeong has good aim, at least; even with the wind, the ball hits Yuan Hao right on the cheek, and he frowns as he picks it up and unrolls it.

“What did you write?” Hyeongseok asks, resigned to his fate as he watches Sehyeong scribble on another piece of paper.

“Advice,” Sehyeong tells him, and Hyeongseok fears for the world, reading aloud, “If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘u’ and ‘I’ together.”

Hyeongseok almost gags. “Do you even know how to write that in Chinese?” He looks over at Sehyeong’s handiwork and finds a messily scrawled ‘put a hand on his thigh’ and another with 'just the tip!' He immediately snatches the paper and pen away from Sehyeong. “Please stop.”

He looks back at the couple, just in time to catch Wang Cheng lean his head against Yuan Hao’s shoulder, snuggling up against his chest as Yuan Hao wraps an arm around him.

Is—is Sehyeong’s advice _working_?

Sehyeong looks so damn _smug_ when Hyeongseok turns back to him, and it’s a terrible reminder of Eojin in the worst way. Also, honestly, Sehyeong’s ego is hard enough to deal with as is, so Hyeongseok just mutely slides the paper and pen back to him.

- 

Yuan Hao’s started playing better, back to his normal standards and improving just as quickly as he had been during the spring split. But Hyeongseok doesn’t protest when Sehyeong leads him into a hotel—an actually _nice_ hotel, with a fancy marble lobby and staff dressed in suits—and that’s when he figures things are starting to get weird, even for Sehyeong standards.

“You told Yuan Hao to take him out to a _hotel_?” Hyeongseok asks, a little incredulous, mostly hysterical. “What if they aren’t ready?”

It’s a little frightening how much he sounds like Cheonju right now, and Sehyeong blinks and raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you Cheonju?” he asks seriously, before shaking his head. “I didn’t tell Yuan Hao to take Wang Cheng here.”

And that catches Hyeongseok’s attention a little, because _everything_ they’ve been doing lately has revolved around their teammates’ love lives. “Then why are we here?”

Inkyu walks into the lobby right then, and Sehyeong immediately brightens. “Just in time,” he says, and Inkyu shoots him an indulgent if tired look.

Hyeongseok stares, and then points, “Wait, why is Inkyu—”

“Yuan Hao and Wang Cheng have been dating since before we joined the team,” Sehyeong interrupts, and Hyeongseok has the distinct feeling he knows what’s going on, and— “You’ve been pretty down since you and Eojin broke up, you know?”  
  
“Oh my god,” Hyeongseok says, realization hitting him like a brick to the stomach. “I’ve been the one that’s been underperforming.”

Sehyeong smiles at him, lays a possessive hand right against the nape of Hyeongseok’s neck. “No, Yuan Hao’s also been underperforming. This was just an easy way to hit two birds with one stone.”

“You guys kept propositioning me back on Samsung,” Hyeongseok says, letting them lead him toward the elevators. “I always thought you were joking.” He looks up at them. “This isn’t—”

“Until Eojin ever manages to stop being a stupid douche,” Inkyu says with a shrug, and Hyeongseok just tilts his head to the side. “And if you want him back,” Sehyeong adds helpfully.

“Um,” he says blankly, watching the elevator count up the floors. “Okay.”

They rush him into the room, as if they’re afraid he’ll change his mind if allowed the time to think things through—which, yes, doubts are already starting to form in his mind—but then Sehyeong pushes him against the bed while Inkyu pounces on top to kiss him. “Good,” he hears faintly over the rush of blood in his ears, feels a hand palm his cock through his jeans. “Just relax.”

- 

"I lied," Sehyeong says, running a hand through Hyeongseok's hair even as Hyeongseok tenses. "I did tell Yuan Hao to take Wang Cheng to this hotel."

Really.

 _Really_.

Forcing himself to relax, Hyeongseok turns to Sehyeong with a sigh. "You didn't."

Inkyu wraps an arm around Hyeongseok's waist, snuggling closer until they're spooning and letting his head rest against Hyeongseok's shoulder. "You're a dumbass," he says cheerily.

Sehyeong doesn't even look put out by the insult. "Not that dumb," he corrects with a smirk. "I got the both of you, didn't I?"

"Desperation," Inkyu replies, and Hyeongseok nods in agreement. "Pure desperation."

"You would never shut up otherwise," Hyeongseok adds.

Inkyu shifts closer, until his hips line up with Hyeongseok’s, cock pressed right up against his ass. “Honestly, It’d probably be better without you.”

Inkyu rolls them over, until he has Hyeongseok trapped underneath him, leaning in to kiss him. Hyeongseok can practically feel Sehyeong’s glare from the side, but he does his part and slips a hand around Inkyu’s neck to bring his face closer.

Inkyu moans loudly into his mouth, as exaggerated and fake as porn and Hyeongseok giggles a little at the sound. He feels a nudge against his side, and so he does his best impression of terribly loud orgasm noises while Inkyu muffles his laughter against Hyeongseok’s shoulder.

“You guys are shitty at this,” Sehyeong complains, and Hyeongseok peeks over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Jealous?” he asks, all innocence, while Sehyeong’s glare increases in intensity. Inkyu moves down slightly to kiss his neck, catching a real gasp out of Hyeongseok as he bites down on a particularly sensitive spot.

He feels a hand brush against his hip, settling just along his inner thigh and stroking at the skin there. “You’re both terrible teases,” Sehyeong grumbles. The hand moves further down, and his breath hitches as it brushes along the edge of his hole, still sensitive and slightly wet from before.

A finger presses in, and Hyeongseok closes his eyes, trying to stop himself from seeming _too_ eager and pushing against the pressure. He opens his eyes to see smirks on both Inkyu and Sehyeong’s faces and realizes how much he’s failed in that act.

“Hyeongseok~ie” Sehyeong says in that cheerful, terrible sing-song way of his. Inkyu presses another kiss against his clavicle as another finger presses in and Hyeongseok shamefully moans a little too loudly. “We’re going to repeat this until you improve, you know.”

Another finger, and Hyeongseok’s eyes roll up as Inkyu starts sucking at his nipples. Pleasure builds up steadily, curling warm and thick in his stomach, and he wonders if it’d really be so bad to deliberately underperform for just a little while longer—

- 

Wang Cheng turns in Yuan Hao’s arms to face him. “Did you ever figure out what was wrong with Sehyeong?”

Yuan Hao just presses a kiss to his forehead and shrugs. “Nope.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically, this was written purely to "We Don't Talk Anymore" (by Charlie Puth ft. Selena Gomez) on repeat. idk how my mind works, okay.
> 
> Title pulled from Fiddler on the Roof because I am without any creativity right now.
> 
> Another pairing to add to the "have-not-repeated" list. Do I win a prize yet?


End file.
